As a field mouse approaches the gaping maw of a lion, so did Laera creep her way up the sand dunes toward the gaping maw of the Tunnel of Ro. This was her second stop in the hapless search for her absent companion, having found no sign of the shadow knight in the Militia House in Freeport. None of the city guard recalled allowing a dark elf to stay the night over the past several days, nor did any recall having one ask for such a favor.

Laera couldn’t help but notice how high tensions seemed to be in the city that day. Garrisons near the west gate were easily doubled since her last visit, not only ranked with members of the Militia, but also paladins who normally controlled the north part of the city. Such an occurrence seemed peculiar to the druid, but none of the guards were willing to discuss the matter when she broached the subject.

Rumors on the street ranged from a planned attack to liberate the Tunnel of Ro to an impending orc invasion from the Commonlands. Whispered gossip even spoke of politics between Freeport and Neriak turning uneasy yet again. Eventually, Laera decided to give up in her efforts to discover the truth in lieu of matters more pressing.

The enormity of her task hit the druid fully as she began to search for Dreketh. If the dark elf had decided to go into hiding, it was possible the wood elf could wind up searching for months. There was simply no knowing what had become of her companion. Laera therefore decided to retrace her steps, traveling to places where they had been together in the past, with the hope that Dreketh would be doing the same.

Nightly, the wood elf prayed to Tunare for forgiveness and guidance to set things right again. Inevitably, her heartfelt prayers ended with a devout plea to protect Dreketh from any harm that might befall her.

A whispered prayer on behalf of a Teir’Dal, Laera thought to herself. She shook her head at the irony, wondering how many times in the past anyone had prayed to the Mother of All to protect the welfare of a dark elf. Probably not too many, she imagined.

Suppressing a slight twinge of claustrophobia through her stomach, the druid walked with outward confidence through the tunnel entrance. Several stragglers made their way past her on their journey outside. Whether they were recent patrons of the swashbuckler’s market or travelers from the desert to the south, Laera couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered much to her. She didn’t plan on staying long in any event. One quick look through the marketplace and she would be on her way ever westward.

Westward. The thought of crossing Kithicor and the Karanas again made the wood elf feel like vomiting. The relief she once felt at deftly avoiding that journey with the Gate spell was all for naught, so it seemed, as she was about to undertake that journey anyway—albeit from the opposite direction.

At least she could camouflage herself this time, she thought. Without Dreketh’s stubborn refusal to be “desecrated by Tunare’s loathsome power,” traveling incognito suddenly became far simpler for the druid. Still, it remained to be seen how useful her camouflage magic was against the undead legions of Kithicor. She had heard rumors that even the coveted undead invisibility spells of clerics remained ineffective against those particular minions of the dead.

The wood elf winced slightly as she approached the flickering light of the marketplace down the tunnel. Throwing her shoulders back, she did her best to work a kink out of her spine. Already her body ached, and she was only a couple of days into her journey. Sighing heavily, Laera paused to rub her eyes before entering the cavern. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow would be the day she headed out. She needed ample time to rest herself. Besides, she didn’t like the look of the clouds gathering to the west. With her luck, it was going to rain again that evening, making any prospect of traveling a miserable one.

Taking a deep breath, Laera stepped into the marketplace, her eyes darting here and there through the throngs of various people going about their business. At first, a few blue-skinned figures caught her eye, but none wearing the ever-present bronze armor. Try as she might, she didn’t see her companion anywhere inside. The handful of dark elves who were gracing the marketplace with their presence was small that day, and it was obvious none of them were Dreketh.

The thought of asking if anyone had seen a dark elf matching the shadow knight’s description crossed Laera’s mind. After all, information was a huge part of what the swashbuckler’s market was all about, and hence its partisans remained vigilant to a fault. By that same token, information was a huge commodity in this place as well. The lightness of Laera’s money pouch made her rethink the notion, not to mention the fact that she wasn’t too fond of the idea that certain unfriendlies who knew about the Pact of Zeranon might come around asking for her whereabouts.

Shaking her head to herself, Laera decided it would be best to make a hasty exit before too many people took note of her. She took several steps back toward the entrance when a slight movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Turning, the wood elf squinted into the shadows, her enhanced elven vision showing the soft, red glow of someone sitting beneath a familiar makeshift lean-to. Laera recognized it as the same lean-to where she had first met Dreketh weeks ago. The figure sat cross-legged in the surrounding darkness, its head lowered morosely.

Was it possible? Grabbing a nearby torch from the wall, Laera approached cautiously to get a closer look at the dejected person. The closer she got, the more her hopes rose, as the individual’s features grew increasingly recognizable. The anonymous figure became a female. The female transformed into an elf. The elf’s skin shown an unmistakable shade of blue as the light from the torch began to illuminate it, the unkempt hair a sullied, tangled mass of white. Instead of armor, the dark elf wore a strapped red undershirt, her lap covered with a worn blanket.

“Dreketh?” the wood elf spoke in a small voice. Leaning forward slightly to one side, Laera tried to get a clear view of the downcast face. Her efforts were rewarded as the figure’s head lifted at the sound of her voice. What met the druid’s eyes made her gasp an oath to Tunare.

Dreketh groaned slightly, shading her eyes from the torch’s sudden light. Her eyes blinked narrowly as she sought to bring the druid’s blurry visage into focus.

“Wood elf…?”

“Yes, it’s me. It’s… Laera,” the wood elf spoke mildly, her eyes never once leaving the face of her companion. Aghast, Laera knelt on the ground as she took in Dreketh’s appearance.

The dark elf’s sharp, refined features were stained with dried blood streaking from her nose, mouth and a lengthy cut across her forehead. Her cheeks were battered and bruised, swollen grotesquely to form a misshapen welt to one side of her lips. Unidentifiable grime soiled nearly every inch of the shadow knight’s abused face.

Tense moments passed as Dreketh’s vision cleared enough to focus on the druid kneeling before her. The azure eyes became piercing in their expression, aimed directly at Tunare’s advocate. The dark elf’s thin brow furrowed low. Her lips curled, revealing an assortment of clenched white teeth laced with crimson red in between.

Dreketh’s breathing came in shaky gasps as she stared at the wood elf. The encrusted tendrils of the dark elf’s hair quivered before her eyes as she began to tremble. Laera steeled herself for the vehement explosion she knew was imminent, when she suddenly noticed tears forming in Dreketh’s eyes. A short, gasping sob burst through the dark elf’s clenched teeth, and she closed her eyes, causing the tears to pour down her cheeks. The shadow knight turned her head back down, covering her face with her hands as she began weeping like a child.

The tenderhearted wood elf reached out a hand.

“Dreketh, it is you! What in the world ha-?” Laera’s query was cut short. A warm, sticky sensation reached her hand as she touched the dark elf’s bare shoulder. Turning her palm upward, she saw it was marred red, fresh with blood.

Immediately concerned, the wood elf craned her neck forward to examine the shadow knight. Pulling the straps of Dreketh’s shirt away from her skin, Laera discovered a dreadful assortment of deep, bleeding gashes all across the dark elf’s shoulders and back. Though scabbed over to some small degree, Dreketh’s movements had brutally reopened them.

“Dearest gods above, what happened to you?” Laera asked the sobbing dark elf.

“I’m sorry,” Dreketh whispered as she grasped at Laera’s armor with desperate hands. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry… Please stay with me. Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me again. Please, please, please…” The dark elf’s beseeching words were lost amidst another bout of inaudible sobbing.

Laera placed a hesitant arm around the dark elf’s shoulders. The shock of seeing the once strong and seemingly indomitable shadow knight like this had thrown her. She wasn’t at all sure what she should do to comfort the Teir’Dal.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, lightly patting the top of her companion’s shoulder to avoid touching the hideous injuries.

The dark elf continued weeping as she wrapped her bruised arms around the druid’s neck, clutching as though she were drowning in deep ocean waters. Laera was completely taken aback at the shadow knight’s bewildering behavior. She had expected a bitter reunion, resulting in hot words, reproach, threats—she even half-expected to be attacked on sight. But tears? Pleas for forgiveness? Laera couldn’t imagine what could possibly have caused this puzzling change in her companion.

Pulling back gently, the druid took on an air of competence.

“Okay, I’m going to heal your wounds…”

“No!” Dreketh cried, suddenly alarmed. “No, you can’t do that!”

“You’ve made your opinion quite clear,” the wood elf argued in return, holding the weakened Teir’Dal by the arms. “But if I don’t at least close the wounds they’ll turn infectious…”

“No!” Dreketh shouted insistently, her eyes filled with terror. “You don’t understand! They were inflicted by the Scion of Innoruuk as my punishment for breaking the Pact. If you heal them with magic, it will kill me. Please don’t do it! I can’t die—not yet! Please!”

“Okay, okay,” Laera said, holding her hands up reassuringly. “No magic, I promise. Calm down, I won’t do anything, I swear.”

The dark elf slumped down, sighing in relief.

“But at least let me wash and bandage them or something to keep them clean,” the wood elf said with obvious concern over the wounds’ severity. “These cuts are so deep, I’m worried if they stay like this, your life might be endangered in any case.”

Dreketh winced and swallowed as the druid made another examination of her back and shoulders.

“They must be cleansed and cauterized,” she said, her voice strained. “It is part of the ritual. Otherwise they will never fully heal.”

Laera looked at the wounds with amazement as she reached into her pack and pulled out a water flask and washcloth.

“Never? What foul magics are at work here?”

“It is Innoruuk’s own hate and his dis-” Dreketh’s voice seized as Laera began to wash a tender spot on her shoulder. “…displeasure with my failure.”

“Failure? No,” Laera said with conviction. “I was the one who broke the Pact. I was the one who left you, not the other way around!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dreketh replied through clenched teeth as the druid worked. “It was my responsibility to keep you from leaving. Instead, I drove you away. That’s why they punished me.”

“Who punished you?” Laera asked, pausing in her attempts to clean the wounds.

Dreketh’s only response was a brief, sheepish glance before pointedly avoiding the wood elf’s gaze. She still trembled slightly, though Laera could plainly see it wasn’t from the pain of the wounds.

The shadow knight’s reaction said it all.

“You returned to Neriak?” Laera whispered in astonishment. “By all the gods, what did you do that for?”

“Where else?” Dreketh replied wearily. “I had no idea what to do or where to go. I didn’t know what was to become of me once the Pact was broken. For a while, I thought about running away. Hiding.”

The wood elf cringed at hearing her own dilemmas repeated back to her, but said nothing as she returned to the gruesome task of cleansing her companion’s wounds.

“But Kella N’Threk has ways of finding people who don’t want to be found,” the dark elf continued. Now that she had regained control of her emotions, she wiped the tears from her cheeks with a quick hand. “I decided it wouldn’t be worth it. Instead of being hunted down and dragged back to Neriak, I thought it would be best if I returned on my own. At least that way there was a small chance I would be allowed to consult with N’Threk about what was to happen next.”

“And if not…?” Laera asked quietly.

Dreketh swallowed, hesitating.

“I expected them to kill me.”

Laera’s hand stopped dabbing at Dreketh’s wounds for half a second. The wood elf could not suppress the odd tingling sensation she felt sweeping over her skin at hearing those words, knowing that she would have been the one responsible. Closing her eyes, Laera rid herself of the thought—it was already difficult enough seeing what did happen.

“Without you, my usefulness to Innoruuk was at an end,” the dark elf continued. “I had no purpose, no people, no family. No god. In a way, I was almost eager for it. I never imagined that they would…” she swallowed heavily, “…that they would let me live.”

The two sat in silence. Laera tried her best to wipe the dirt and grime from Dreketh’s wounds, but she was fast approaching the point where she had done all she could with the blood-soaked washcloth and the small bit of water she had left.

“How did you get here?” she asked quietly.

“I was ordered here,” Dreketh replied. “After they finished with me, they said to return to the spot where we first met and to stay here without food or drink until either you returned or until I died of thirst, whichever came first.”

Overcome, Laera closed her eyes. She raised the back of her hand to her forehead, the red of the dark elf’s blood smearing across her tan skin.

“I’m so sorry, Dreketh,” she whispered. “This is all my fault. Everything that happened to you-”

“It was my own doing,” the dark elf interrupted, turning to address the druid. “I chose to return to Neriak, arrogantly believing I was too important for them to refuse me. I should have known better. What I did was foolish, and you are not to blame for my idiocy.”

“Yes I am,” Laera argued heatedly. “If I hadn’t turned my back like a selfish coward, you would never have returned!”

“It was my actions that made you leave.”

“But, if I-”

“Listen to me!” Dreketh snapped, reaching out to take the wood elf by the arms. “We can sit here going back and forth for hours and end up tracing the blame all the way back to the gods before we’re done. Now, the truth is, I don’t blame you for what happened. I used to. After you left, I swore my vengeance upon your blood, but I have since been made to recognize the depth of that mistake.”

Laera pressed her lips together, refusing to look at the dark elf.

“Think what you will,” Dreketh continued, her voice breaking slightly. “But your coming back has saved me.”

“There are any number of ways you could survive out here,” the wood elf replied sullenly.

“I wasn’t talking about my life.”

Laera raised her eyes to meet Dreketh’s, questioning the dark elf’s meaning.

“Because of you, I have been given a second chance to fulfill the wishes of my god. You are the only person on Norrath who can do that, and it means so much to me, I can never put it into proper words,” the shadow knight said evenly, her gaze gravely serious. “Thank you.”

Laera stared at the shadow knight’s battered face, seeing no sign of deceit or trickery. Dreketh truly meant every word she said, and the wood elf had no idea how to respond. She had gone from expecting to defend herself to being thanked by the very Teir’Dal she had wronged.

“Come,” she said. Laera saw by the dark elf’s ashen complexion that she had reached her limits of endurance. “You need your rest and I can’t do anything more without a wash basin.”

“Where are we going?” Dreketh asked weakly, with visible pallor. “The innkeepers here hate the Teir’Dal.”

“Then we’ll rent one of the empty houses for a couple of weeks. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, especially in your condition,” Laera said, pulling one of Dreketh’s arms around her neck to support the dark elf. Together, the two young women stood precariously.

“I’ll be fine,” Dreketh said, clenching her teeth against the pain. “Just cauterize the wounds and we’ll get out of here.”

“You’re not going anywhere without rest,” Laera said grimly. “I’m the closest thing we have to a healer. So, unless you think you can take me down in combat right now, we’re sticking around until you’re back on your feet. Understand?”

Dreketh rolled her eyes with a sneer.

“By all the gods, I hate you,” she muttered.

“I know,” the wood elf replied, her grin hidden from view.

“Now I know why you got this place for ten platinum,” Dreketh said wearily as Laera picked up the washbowl filled with rainwater sitting on the nightstand.

“It’s better than sleeping outside,” the wood elf said over her shoulder. Opening the door, she tossed the water onto the doorstep.

“I thought you liked rain?”

“Let’s just say it got old really fast,” Laera replied caustically, wiping the nightstand dry with a rag before replacing the bowl. Small metallic sounds echoed around the room as droplets leaking from the ceiling struck the tin container.

The house was, in a word, dismal. At first, they were elated that they had any place to stay at all. Then night fell, and it soon became apparent how inadequate Commonland architecture really was. Not only did the roof leak at the slightest drizzle, but also an unpleasant breeze flowed continuously from the ill-fitted door and windows in the one-room abode. Though trivial during the temperate daytime hours, the constant airflow made for some chilling nights. The floorboards squeaked, the plaster was cracked, the single twin bed was sagging and uncomfortable, and the young women soon discovered how a wide variety of insect life had long ago decided to make the woodwork their permanent home.

In the end, however, Laera’s statement turned out to be true—it really was better than sleeping outside. The stone and mortar fireplace provided some degree of mild warmth and there was a roof over their heads—precarious as it was. At the very least, it kept the elements and wild animals at bay, allowing the shadow knight the time she needed to recuperate naturally.

Sitting down at the edge of the creaky bed, Laera made a precursory examination of the dark elf’s cuts and bruises.

“How are you feeling this morning? Sleep okay?”

“I’ve had better nights,” Dreketh replied evenly, succumbing to the druid’s inspection of her arms, legs and face. “But I feel better than yesterday.”

Laera looked at her companion with concern. Dreketh’s nightmares were getting worse with each passing night. Laera would often wake to the sound of her companion muttering in her sleep, but she could never make out any of the words. As much as the druid tried to get Dreketh to talk about her dreams, the dark elf adamantly refused.

“At least the swelling on your mouth has gone down quite a bit.” Laera eyed Dreketh’s face closely. “I don’t know what you were hit with, but it must have nearly taken your head off.”

Dreketh touched the tender cheek gingerly with the back of her hand.

“It was the gauntlet of an overenthusiastic captain,” she said, her words bitter at the memory.

“I could heal that, you know…”

“Just… leave it, all right?”

“Hey, it’s fine by me if you prefer being miserable,” Laera shrugged. “Now, turn over, I have to check your back.”

Dreketh groaned, but complied obediently, having long ago resigned herself to the druid’s militant bedside manner.

“I don’t know which is worse,” she grumbled as Laera inspected the scorch marks left by the cauterization. “Being stretched out on the slab or having you burn me to a cinder on that iron skewer.”

“Just following the Neriak Guide to Happier Sadism like you taught me,” Laera replied, her voice deliberately flippant. “How does it feel? Has the burning stopped?”

“A little,” Dreketh replied with a wince.

The wood elf nodded, finishing her examination.

“Well, you’re coming along, but I think I’m going to see about extending our stay another week.”

“That’s absurd,” the dark elf shot back. “I’ll be fine in a couple of days, and we can start heading to Freeport.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Laera replied. “You can’t walk more than ten feet without my help. It’s a sheer miracle you made it from Neriak to the tunnel by yourself. If anything happens to us out there with you in this condition, we wouldn’t even be able to get away, much less put up a respectable fight. We’re staying.”

“And what do you plan on using for money? We’re nearly broke, and it’s not likely that slumlord human is going to take you on as a charity case.”

“Just relax about that. I’ve made special arrangements, and I’m handling it with the innkeeper,” the wood elf assured.

Dreketh slowly turned a glowering look on her companion’s glib statement.

“You’re ‘handling’ it with him?”

Laera nodded, and the shadow knight wearily rolled her eyes closed.

“So help me, wood elf. After everything I’ve done, if you’ve gone and-”

“Relax, relax. I’m just hunting wild game and selling the meat to him for use in his kitchen. That’s all.”

Dreketh’s sullen, disbelieving eyes shot daggers at the wood elf.

“Really, I’m serious!” Laera held out her hands openly. “Your valiant efforts in protecting my virtue have not been in vain, I swear it on Tunare’s feet.”

“I didn’t think you druids hunted wild game for food,” Dreketh said.

“We don’t mourn the loss of creatures whose purpose in life is the sustenance of others.”

“Mmm hmm. Think about that the next time you’re facing down a troll who’s about to make you his dinner,” the shadow knight replied, cringing slightly as she leaned back in her bed.

“Now get some rest,” the druid ordered her patient, dismissing the last comment. “I have work to do if we’re going to earn our keep. Are you going to be okay if I leave for a few hours?”

Dreketh nodded, rubbing her eyes.

“Do you need anything before I go?”

“I’m injured, not an invalid,” Dreketh commented dryly.

“All right, fine,” Laera said, backing off from her “mother hen persona” as the dark elf called it. “Just try to get some sleep. You need it to heal. There’s fresh water in the packs if you get thirsty.” Without further comment, the wood elf left, gently closing the door and bolting it behind her as she went.

The dark elf sneered her repugnance at the notion of more sleep, though in reality she was exhausted from her insomnia the previous night. Every time she closed her eyes, visions of her ordeal in Neriak haunted her as a hideous reminder of lessons learned. She didn’t know if it was just her own mind playing tricks on her, or if Innoruuk seriously wished to drive her punishment home with His unyielding hand.

Whatever the case, she prayed fervently for it to stop. The last time dreams affected her in this way was many long years ago when she was a young girl. Xon Quexill would often stay up all night watching over her as she slept—especially during the difficult days following the death of her parents. Whether it truly helped keep the dreams away or not, Dreketh couldn’t recall for certain. What she did remember was that it made her feel a whole lot better at the time, having him look out for her.

“Master Xon,” she whispered in silence, fighting to keep her eyelids open. “You were always there when I needed you. Where are you now?”

Though the shadow knight put up an heroic struggle to stay awake, eventually the lulling shroud of sleep won out. Dreketh’s last conscious thoughts were those of her adopted father, and she imagined him sitting in a chair next to her bed.

Xon Quexill marched alone toward the Temple of Innoruuk with a furious stride, the enraged flame of Innoruuk’s hatred burning in his gaze. Though thousands of issues were pulling at him in every possible direction, only one man’s image lay reflected in the guild master’s eyes.

“Kella N’Threk,” he said in a cool, dangerous tone as one of the temple guards approached.

The guard spoke from within the confines of his helm.

“Priest N’Threk is indisposed, sir, and cannot-”

“I don’t care if the priest is in divine audience with Innoruuk Himself. You will take me to Kella N’Threk forthwith, or by my hand I will tear this temple apart stone by stone until I locate him.” The necromancer’s tone was seething, which left no doubt to his intentions. Reaching into the folds of his magenta robes, Quexill pulled forth a rolled-up scroll. “This is a writ conscripted by the conclave of guild masters demanding that priest N’Threk’s declaration of the Tal’Shyen be revoked immediately. You will find my name placed first among the signatures.”

The guard accepted the scroll and, unrolling it, skimmed over the text it contained. Satisfied of its authenticity, the guard placed it under one arm and saluted the master necromancer respectfully.

“Very well, sir,” he said dutifully, as if having been forewarned that the necromancer and the document were coming. “The writ shall be delivered immediately. Please follow me to Priest N’Threk’s chambers, sir.”

“Xon Quexill, master of the necromancer guild, requests an audience, your grace,” the guard spoke, acting as herald by announcing the guild master’s arrival to Kella N’Threk’s chambers.

“Let him enter,” came the priest’s nearly inaudible response. Were it not for the faultlessly silent halls of the temple, the old man’s decrepit voice would not have been heard at all.

Stepping aside, the guard gestured for Xon Quexill to enter through the open doorway. The necromancer stepped silently into the priest’s chambers, his scathing eyes drawn immediately toward Kella N’Threk lying in the meager bed across the room.

With a small flourish of his hand, the priest dismissed the temple guard. The chamber was now empty, save for he and the glaring guild master.

“I see you heard, didn’t you?” the priest’s quivering voice spoke. “I knew it would not be long before I had the honor of your presence once again, my friend. Though I admit, I did not anticipate your arrival so quickly. I would think your so-called ‘sabbatical’ would have been enough to waylay the news for at least a month.”

The necromancer stood motionless near the door, his nostrils flaring. Though no word escaped his lips, his fury was palpable in the small room.

“A dreadful pity the nexus foolishly chose to return to Neriak,” Kella N’Threk continued baiting his visitor. “I hear the sounds of her torment echoed loudly throughout the Lodge of the Dead well into morning hours before she could be properly adjusted.”

“Adjusted?” Quexill replied coldly. “Adjusted!”

Treading quickly across the chamber floor, the necromancer grasped the ailing priest by his bedclothes, yanking him from off the mattress by several inches.

“Your doddering holiness ordered the torture of one of Innoruuk’s chosen! You twisted and sundered her body and soul! You violated her! You humiliated her! But your greatest mistake lies in that of choosing my daughter to do it to!”

“She is no more your daughter than I am dragonkind, necromancer,” Kella N’Threk said in a surprisingly collective voice, being the sole object of the guild master’s ire as he was.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t send you to Innoruuk now, you sanctimonious son of a whore!” Quexill yelled in the blind priest’s face.

“You may do so at your leisure, necromancer,” N’Threk replied, retaining his calm demeanor in the face of death. “I have given my final order as custodian of the Pact, and all is in readiness for when the unsealing takes place. Only time stands now between Innoruuk and deliverance from years of injustice by His enemies. Because of our efforts, you and I, the Teir’Dal will inevitably make the claim to the Chalice once it is unearthed, and Innoruuk will become the one, true god of Norrath. Nothing, not even my death, can alter this fact, my friend.”

“Call me that one more time and you will wish it was you on the slab, priest,” Quexill warned.

“Do with me as you will,” Kella N’Threk said wearily. “My work on this world is complete, and my life’s end draws closer with each breath I take. One day soon I will rest knowing that I have done all I could to serve our Father. That is all any Teir’Dal can wish for, Xon Quexill. The nexus-”

“Her name is Dreketh!” the necromancer yelled angrily, hurling the old priest back down onto the bed. “She is the daughter of a once proud and loyal Teir’Dal bloodline—a house that is now extinct save for her!”

“Loyal house?” the priest asked in a slithering voice. “You seem so certain of what you say—all because of one surviving she-elf you have come to cherish. Jumping to conclusions is hardly a ringing endorsement of your leadership skills, guild master. If I were you, I would be very careful—very careful, indeed—about whom I choose to pledge my allegiances. You know as well as I what must happen for the Pact of Zeranon to come to fruition.”

Halting his tirade, Xon Quexill listened closely to the failing priest’s words, only partially comprehending their meaning.

“What are you saying?” he asked, his words slow and dire.

Kella N’Threk grinned evilly, a sight few ever saw due to the priest’s penchant for subtlety.

“I’m saying there was one reason and one reason only your ‘daughter’ was selected for the Pact. It was in her blood from the day she was born, making her the ideal candidate above all others.”

Thoughts raced through the necromancer’s mind as he assimilated the priest’s words and their import. Quexill mentally began putting together the pieces of what he knew about Dreketh’s lineage and the Pact of Zeranon, meshing together in a convoluted jigsaw. As far as he could see, every avenue of meaning behind N’Threk’s riddle stopped at a dead end. All, that is, save one, and that final avenue pointed to a conclusion so unimaginable, yet made so much sense, Quexill doubted his own sanity in the face of the mad priest’s words.

“Who selected her for the Pact?” he asked quietly, repeating the question he asked of the priest months ago when this whole political carnival began.

The priest grinned again, his milky eyes gleaming white in the room’s soft light.

“Damn you, tell me!” the master necromancer shouted insistently.

His grin unwavering, Kella N’Threk answered.

Chapter 17 - Waking Nightmares